At the moment their needles crossed, a sharp, resonant ring echoed through the training hall. Ella winced, covering her ears against the piercing sound, but to Gelvin and Helletta, the clash was symphonic—a harmonious melding of skill and steel.

Gelvin retreated a few steps, drawing his sword-needle close before launching into a series of swift thrusts. To Helletta, his attacks blurred into streaks of silver, yet somehow her eyes tracked the trajectory of his needle, her body moving instinctively to intercept each strike with her own blade.

Despite her efforts, his needle always came perilously close. And there were so many of them. Gelvin moved like a tempest—relentless and unyielding. His strikes bore a ferocity he hadn't displayed when sparring with Ella.

Helletta parried each attack with marksman precision, but he was driving her back, inch by inch, toward the unyielding wall. She had been on the defensive from the outset, searching for an opening to counterattack and shift the momentum. Yet Gelvin's speed and the sheer volume of his assaults left no gaps—his needle seemed to materialize from every angle, a storm of steel enveloping her.

Realizing the futility of her current strategy, Helletta decided to gamble. The next time Gelvin struck, she would not only parry but trace her blade along his, aiming to reach his hand. It was a risky maneuver; mistiming it could mean immediate defeat. But if she continued merely defending, her stamina would wane, and defeat would be certain. She steeled herself, resolve hardening like tempered iron.

She increased the tempo of her counters, each movement more precise, more aggressive. Gelvin noticed the shift—she was meeting his attacks almost before he initiated them. Recognition flickered in his eyes: untrained she might be, but Helletta possessed a natural instinct for battle. Her sudden change in pace distracted him just enough that he failed to notice her blade sliding closer down his own with each parry. Finally, her blade grazed his hand.

A sharp sting jolted through Gelvin's fingers, causing him to flinch. His stance faltered as he stepped back, lowering his sword-needle. It was only a heartbeat, but it was all Helletta needed.

Seizing the moment, Helletta pressed forward. She channeled more power into her strikes, increasing not only her speed but the force behind each blow. Now, she advanced like a gathering storm, her attacks driving Gelvin back. He parried swiftly, but for the first time, he was on the defensive.

Just as Gelvin took his seventh step backward, he shifted into a new stance—one leg bent at the knee, the other extended, his needle poised like a viper ready to strike. "Threadweaver Style: Stitch Piercer," he intoned. Suddenly, his footwork transformed. He moved so swiftly that afterimages seemed to fill the room, each one brandishing a needle aimed at Helletta.

A chill swept over the hall, and Helletta felt the hairs on her neck rise. Gelvin's movements were no longer the disciplined, predictable patterns from before. Now they were fluid, serpentine—his body bending and twisting in ways that made anticipating his strikes nearly impossible. She struggled to parry the onslaught, her defenses buckling under the relentless barrage.

From her vantage point atop a raised platform, Ella watched with wide-eyed awe. The duel was mesmerizing—Gelvin's lightning-fast assaults clashing against Helletta's tenacious defense. The sheer skill on display stirred a pang of envy within her. She wished she possessed even a fraction of their prowess.

At last, the bout reached its conclusion. Helletta stumbled and fell to one knee, breathless, while Gelvin stood tall, not a bead of sweat on his brow. A triumphant smile played on his lips.

"How in the gods' names did you do that?" Helletta gasped, looking up at him.

Gelvin extended a hand to help her up. "It's an elementary technique," he replied modestly. "Its power lies in its simplicity. Many in the cradles overcomplicate their fighting styles. The Threadweaver Style was taught to me by a master who served in the Imperial Army. It's one of the foundational techniques for new recruits. Mastery of it is essential for advancing in rank."

He gestured for Ella to join them. She hopped down and approached, her eyes still shining with admiration. Together, they faced Gelvin as he settled into a nearby chair.

"If you two are going to survive the upcoming festival," Gelvin began, wiping a faint sheen of sweat from his forehead, "you need to understand the powers you'll wield—not just to defend yourselves but to overcome any adversaries you might face."

He stretched his arms out, hands clenched into fists. "There are typically two paths—the inner way and the outer way, or sometimes both." He opened one fist, revealing his palm. "The inner way involves channeling the power of the Five Gods."

He continued, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. "Each of the Five Gods governs a vital aspect of the divine essence. Lord Solere represents the divine body and soul. By channeling his martial forms, you can refine your soul essence, enhancing your body and manipulating your essence with great flexibility.

"Lady Sylphora is the Goddess of Dreams and Fantasia. By tapping into her vision and subconscious, you can manifest your dreams and fantasies into reality through various mediums.

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"Lord Fullbright, the God of Knowledge and Reflections, offers power through deep scholarship and understanding, etched into his entangled crystals. You can reflect the workings of reality itself.

"Lord Arellius-Lona, the Lord of Beasts and Men—by channeling his guttural tongue, you can tame beasts and perhaps even influence humans.

"And finally, Lord Arazeal, the God of War and the Raging Storm. Through him, one can channel the natural phenomena of the world. How this is accomplished isn't fully understood. Those who become like the raging storm are few, and their methods often come naturally. They are incredibly powerful."

He opened his other hand. "Then there's the outer way. It offers vast riches but is often met with prejudice due to prevailing human-centric attitudes. The Living Warrior is one such path—a warrior who has bonded their soul to their blade. As they grow stronger, so does their weapon. They might wield a living weapon, a living inventory, or both.

"There's the Hunter—a profession common near the Enclosure Zones or beyond. They hunt corrupted beasts, fashioning weapons and gear from their remains. They are both shunned and necessary within the Empire.

"Herbalists are another path, often found on civilization's fringes. While Hunters seek to tame beasts, Herbalists seek to tame nature itself. They use their deep knowledge of flora to their advantage, both offensively and defensively. They can heal, but they can also be deadly.

"Then there are the Feydaks. They use their soul essence to manipulate not only their physical form but their internal workings with great finesse. Their abilities are hereditary."

Gelvin's gaze grew serious. "Choosing the outer way—eschewing the Five Gods—makes it harder to ascend to the Realm of Lords. At best, it might grant you a comfortable life in the Realm of Men. There's also a darker path, one that derives power from the shadows. Steer well clear of that."

He turned to Helletta. "I believe you would excel by channeling Lord Solere, learning to manipulate your soul essence."

He looked at Ella. "And you might be suited to weaving fantasies, channeling Lady Sylphora."

Ella nodded thoughtfully. "I come from a small fishing village. I used to help my brothers set bait, making it alluring to fish with herbs that drew them in. I was quite good at it."

Gelvin smiled. "Then you have a natural affinity. Don't doubt yourself."

Just then, his capsule emitted a soft chime—a message from one of his attendants. His father had returned.

"I'll leave you two with some books," he said, handing them each a hefty tome. Helletta's face fell at the sight of the thick volume. "You need to brush up on foundational theories before taking another step. I'll be back."

He noticed her reluctance. "I'm not taking no for an answer," he added firmly. "I promised to join your group. Now it's your turn to hold up your end of the deal. When I return, I'll have questions."

With that, he departed, leaving the two girls alone in the quiet hall.

"Reading," Helletta groaned, eyeing the tome with disdain. "I much prefer doing."

Ella chuckled softly. "Consider it a necessary evil. Besides, the sooner we start, the sooner we can move on to the exciting parts."

Helletta sighed but nodded, flipping open the book to the first page.

Meanwhile, Gelvin made his way through the winding corridors of the estate to his father's study. The heavy wooden door was ajar, and he could see Galvas seated at his desk, the glow of a lamp casting shadows across his weary face.

"Hello, Father," Gelvin greeted as he entered.

Galvas looked up, his eyes partially hidden behind tinted lenses. "What were you thinking?" he demanded without preamble. "I've just returned from the council meeting, and I hear you've signed up for the festival. Are you out of your mind? Do you understand the stakes involved? It's essentially an all-out war between the Whydits and the Blackthorns."

Gelvin met his gaze unflinchingly. "And who set those terms?" he retorted. "I should be asking you what you were thinking. If you weren't my father, I'd question your sanity."

Galvas's shoulders sagged slightly. He turned his gaze to the window, where the last light of day faded into twilight. "Perhaps we're more alike than I care to admit," he murmured.

"That's not good enough," Gelvin pressed. "We promised each other we'd stay out of these barbaric festivals. What changed? What's happening?"

"I wish I knew," Galvas replied softly, his voice tinged with resignation.

Gelvin felt a surge of frustration. "If you won't tell me, then I'll find out on my own."

He turned and strode out, the door closing behind him with a decisive click. As he walked down the dimly lit corridor, his thoughts churned. Helletta, Helfellyn, the connections threading between them—all of it weighed heavily on his mind. He stopped abruptly, realization dawning like a cold dawn.

His father, the man who had held the Whydit family together since the patriarch's death, was now entangling himself in a dangerous game, perhaps unaware of the hidden schemes swirling around him. Gelvin clenched his fists. He wouldn't lose his father—not to the family's internal strife, not to the machinations of others. He resolved to find a way to halt the festival before it unraveled everything. He would protect his father. And Helletta, too.

Back in the study, Galvas stared at the closed door long after Gelvin had gone. His hands trembled slightly, a rare crack in his composed facade. What had driven his son to join the festival? He needed to know.

A memory surfaced—Gelvin kneeling amidst a pool of blood, tears carving tracks down his face as his automaton, the Heltrin clan's crowning achievement, hovered ominously above. A chill gripped Galvas's heart. Did Gelvin remember?

"Does he remember?" Galvas whispered into the empty room.

A voice answered—a twisted murmur that seemed to seep from the very walls. "He knows nothing yet," it hissed.

Galvas turned slowly toward the left wall of his study. Intricate alabaster sculptures interwove in a tapestry of figures and symbols. At the center was a carving of a woman cradling a child. The voice seemed to emanate from the sculpture's serene visage.

"Gelvin has found another reason," the voice continued, dripping with a sickly sweetness. "Another Hellera. Another light."

Galvas approached the wall, pressing his forehead against the cool stone. "Does this not ruin everything?" he murmured. "Won't history repeat itself?"

"Do not fret, Galvas," the voice crooned. "This time, you're in control. You know what is important. Let that guide you."

"Yes," Galvas whispered, his voice barely audible. "Yes, you're right."

"Then don't hesitate," the voice urged. "Unleash everything. Draw all into the void—every mistake, every sin. Drown them until they're purified. Until nothing remains. Perhaps then, your family will be unbound from the sins of the father."